Agatha is drowning.
The water doesn't burn as it usually does, but it is uncomfortable against her skin all the same, itching and tight.
But nonetheless, she is drowning.
She writhes and flails under the surface, struggling against the clothes weighing her down; the fur-lined cloak, the heavy boots. Her lungs are screaming, and black spots are dancing in her vision-- it cannot be long before she will faint, and she will be forced to open her mouth. The idea of that sends another lance of panic into her chest and she flails harder, struggling to reach the surface. There is someone standing there, looking down at her. She doesn't expect them to help. They are the reason she is drowning, after all.
A movement on the surface of the water catches her eye, and she jerks her head towards it, wondering if it will prove helpful--
No, not only does it not help, it's going to--
Inexplicably, almost against her will, she opens her mouth to scream.
She realises her mistake too late.
Agatha wakes up to the smell of burning.
She bolts upright, and finds she's singed holes in the pillow and sheet where her hands had been. Swearing, she tumbles out of bed and onto the rug, trying to hold her hot hands away from anything flammable.
She sits for a minute, sucking in breaths and trying not to dwell on the dream. It's not unusual for her to have disturbing, overly-detailed dreams, but this one is exceptionally unsettling, and it's lingering.
Biting her nails, she stands and makes for the door, intending to sit and draw some strength from the sitting room fire. The clock makes it midnight, so it should hopefully still be alight, but no one will be around to witness her without her veil or gloves.
Still, she takes one of the hooded velvet robes as she leaves. She thinks Beatrix or Dot must have provided it; it's got the Camelot crest stitched onto the shoulder.
She traces the dragon absently as she pushes her door open and peers into the corridor. No one's around, so she pads across the hall and shoulders open the sitting room door. Mercifully, the fire is still burning, and she makes a beeline for it--
"Bad dream?"
Agatha jumps--
She turns to find Callis sitting in one of the chairs behind her.
"Suppose so. Why are you still up?" she asks, relaxing.
"Thinking." says Callis shortly, eyeing her uncovered face and hands. She doesn't comment, though. She never does. She just looks pleased.
"About what?" asks Agatha, sinking down next to the fire and digging her hands into the embers, watching her veins start to glow again.
Callis doesn't reply right away. Then she says;
"Did you talk to Sophie, today?"
"Talk." Snorts Agatha, crushing an ember in her palm. "Argued, yes."
"About the King?"
"Unfortunately."
"What did she say?"
Agatha grimaces, gesturing to coax the flames into burn higher. It had been an unpleasant conversation. Hort had fetched Sophie himself, of course, which meant that Sophie was already in a bad mood when she'd arrived, and, when she'd seen it was only Agatha waiting for her, she'd known exactly what was coming.
-----
"If this is about me talking to Teddy at dinner, I don't want to hear it." Sophie snaps, bustling over to sit in the window seat.
"Teddy." sneers Agatha. "What are you, twelve?"
"The servants call him that!"
"The servants have known him for more than 48 hours! What the hell do you think you're playing at?"
"You don't even like him, why should it matter?"
"It's improper!"
"Since when have you cared if something is proper?" demands Sophie.
"Since it will cause problems." hisses Agatha. "You're going to make the people panic. They'll think the marriage is going to be a failure."
"Isn't that what you want?"
"No! It has political implications, people will think the alliance between our countries is weak and take advantage of it, there can be all sorts of rumours to undermine Tedros--"
"You don't like him!" says Sophie shrilly. "Surely I can have some fun--"
"It doesn't matter!" Snarls Agatha. "What affects him will affect the entire country, and I don't want to affect an entire country! You saw what happened to his parents!"
Sophie scoffs, hauling herself back to her feet again.
"This isn't like that! I'm just having some fun--"
"Why? You think he's going to choose you if you confess you're my bastard sister? Just because you're pretty? If this was up to us-- which it isn't-- I'm sure you'd be very happy, being pretty and fashionable and stupid together--"
"Don't call me stupid." snaps Sophie.
"Well, don't act it, and I won't! You've got none of the political advantage, which is what this whole thing is about--"
"I could get it." says Sophie darkly.
"Pray tell how--?"
"Mother's considered declaring me her true heir, before."
Agatha freezes.
"What?"
Sophie sneers at her.
"She told me that before this marriage alliance was properly settled, she didn't see what you could possibly do for her that I couldn't, except cause problems. Now, of course, you're useful, but the backup plan was that you could be my Captain of the Guard, with all your skills. She's still tempted by the idea. You're very difficult."
Agatha clenches her fists.
"You're lying."
"I'm not." says Sophie dismissively. "I just didn't tell you before, because I didn't want to hurt your feelings. Now..." she shrugs.
"Callis never told me."
"Callis wasn't privy to the discussion, given we both knew she'd run and snitch to you the second it was over."
"She can't disown me now." says Agatha hoarsely.
"No. Not that she's happy about it, and she told me that I could always play the part of heir, even if I don't get to--"
She stops, but it's too late. Agatha has understood. In her anger, Sophie has gone too far, and blurted something out she wasn't supposed to.
"She put you up to this." growls Agatha.
Sophie's immediately shaking her head.
"Wait, no--"
"She told you to undermine me!"
"Agatha, you don't get it--"
"You're her pawn!"
"She's my mother!" hisses Sophie. "And like it or not, she's yours, too!"
"And yet she seems to be eager to forget it, so why should I honour it? Just because you're her lapdog--"
"I don't like her any better than you do!"
"THEN ACT LIKE IT!"
They stare at each other for a second, not that there's much point, given Agatha's expression is obscured. Sophie's chest is heaving and there's an ugly, unpleasant look on her face that heralds some sort of cruel outburst. This always happens when they fight. It's vicious and entirely too reminiscent of Vanessa for Agatha's liking. In moments like this, it's clear who'd brought each of the sisters up.
"I'm sorry that I seem to be in the way of Mother's perfect fairy tale ending for you." says Agatha, forcing herself to be measured. "And I'm sure that Tedros is just as annoyed that he's got the dour, homely one instead of the beautiful, brainless one. But it's not changing. Get over it. Find a knight to marry."
She turns and stalks towards the door--
"You know," says Sophie loudly. "Mother and I have been making bets on how long your marriage will last. She thinks he'll get a few heirs from you, as fast as possible, then start having an affair and pressure you until you get a divorce. But me?"
She leans towards her.
"I think he'll turn tail at the wedding, the second he takes that veil off."
Agatha stares dumbly at her, so angry she can barely think. They've had their fair share of fights in the past, but Sophie has never, never, stooped so low as to make fun of her looks.
For a horrible second, Agatha has an impulse to take her gloves off and make a grab for her.
"You're her double." she says. "And I feel sorry for you."
She slams the door in her face and takes off down the corridor.
----
"So Vanessa is deliberately trying to make this harder for you." says Callis. "Great."
Agatha grunts in assent, gathering a pile of embers in her hands.
"What did we expect, really?"
"Good point." Callis considers her, for a moment. "You know she's just trying to get under your skin. There's nothing she can do, now."
Agatha thinks that's probably not quite true, but remains silent. Then she says;
"Tedros left in a hurry, today. Apparently there was some sort of situation, did you see anything?"
Callis purses her lips.
"No. I saw some sort of commotion, but it was dispersing by the time I passed. Tedros and Lord Scourie both looked unsettled, though."
Agatha rolled her eyes.
"Hort was just sad that Sophie wasn't interested in him."
"Well, there's that." agrees Callis. "You're setting your robe on fire, by the way."
Agatha plucks the flames absently off the edge of her sleeve and chucks them back into the fireplace, shaking out the smouldering fabric.
"Whatever. Well, he looked pretty unsettled when Hort came to tell him, so it can't be anything good."
Callis nods-- then smirks.
"I forgot to ask you, how was it?"
"Choosing flowers? Boring."
"No, I knew you were going to say that-- I mean being stuck with the King for three or so hours."
"Oh." Agatha pulls a face, tossing a ball of flames from hand to hand. "It was... fine. He was a little irritating, in that he was pretending to be enthusiastic, and he spent every free second preening, but he was agreeable enough, I suppose."
"I hear you made a pact to be more convincing."
Agatha shoots her a suspicious glance.
"Who told you that?"
Callis examines her nails.
"I may have stopped to talk to him."
Agatha hurls the ball of fire back into the grate-- the fire reignites with a whumph-- and turns, incredulous.
"You interrogated him? I told you to stop trying to psych him out!"
"I said talk." sniffs Callis.
Agatha shoots her an unimpressed look. She knows how Callis operates.
"What did he confess to?"
Callis shrugs.
"Not much, to start with. Spent a lot of time breaking eye contact and fiddling with his gloves."
"Can't imagine why." mutters Agatha.
"He was very complimentary."
"Well, yeah, he was talking to you. Bet he didn't mention I sulked all the entire time and called him vain."
Callis smirks.
"He said he was concerned you weren't enjoying yourself, and asked if there was some way he could fix that. I said no, you're just difficult."
Agatha makes a rude gesture in her vague direction.
"Agatha, your fingers are glowing, don't think I didn't see that. Anyway, I'm winding you up. I said I thought you'd come to like it better, eventually."
"So you lied to the poor bastard."
"Oh, come on, you'll love learning about all the drama you mustn't mention to the royal wedding guests. And you're meeting well-wishers tomorrow, which means you can talk to regular citizens instead of Tedros."
"Regular citizens who are going to expect me to lavish Tedros with compliments." sighs Agatha. "But yes, I suppose."
They sit in silence for a while, watching the fire finally burn down.
"What was your dream about?" asks Callis, finally.
Agatha shrugs tiredly.
"Water. Always is."
----
She doesn't go back to sleep, after that. She just lies on the singed sheets with her gloves on, thinking, until Dot and Beatrix come to wake her up and dress her.
"It'll be a combination of nobility and townspeople." Beatrix tells her whilst she eats a hasty breakfast of more of those bread rolls, and orange segments. "It happens every time there's a royal wedding, apparently. Not that I was here for the last one, but that's what Tedros said."
"Nobility?" Agatha asks apprehensively as she's guided through a maze of corridors. Dot waves her off.
"They're all sorts of snobby, but I don't think they'll be rude to you if Teddy's there. Truth be told, I don't think they'll even pay you much attention. They'll all be clamouring to get in his good books, so the only thing they'll do is compliment you."
"Is this from experience?" asks Agatha.
"Anyone in his close service is subjected to it." says Beatrix. "He's pretty private, so they find it harder to flatter him than they'd like."
Agatha frowns.
"He doesn't seem very hard to flatter."
Dot snorts.
"I knew you'd say that. Down here-- oh, hello, Captain!"
Agatha turns to see Hester emerging from the shadows of the corridor they've just turned into, and sags in relief.
"Hester. What are you doing here?"
"I've been told you need an escort today, given that you could potentially be kidnapped by a crazed Baron at any moment." says Hester, sounding bored. "I don't see why they'd bother, honestly. You're not that attractive, and you'd bite if someone tried to grab you."
"Go to hell." says Agatha fondly as Hester falls in alongside her.
They walk in silence for a little while. Agatha gets the impression Hester is waiting to say something, so slows down a little, to let Beatrix and Dot fall further ahead--
"Heard you and Sophie had a fight." murmurs Hester as Beatrix and Dot lead them down a spiralling staircase. Agatha grimaces, even though Hester can't see.
"News travels fast, huh?"
"Well, I heard you shouting, and figured there's only one person you holler at like that." says Hester grimly. "What was it about?"
"The King. And how she's been acting with him."
"Agatha, he's just some boy--"
"Vanessa put her up to it."
Hester pauses mid-reprimand.
"...ah."
"Let's face it, the political implications of her doing that are pretty dire. And it'll never happen."
"True."
"Plus, she finally slipped and said I was ugly."
"What?"
"Never liked her." mutters Dot from in front of them.
"Eavesdrop, much?" snaps Hester. Dot ignores her. Agatha, who wouldn't have been surprised if Dot and Beatrix already knew, anyway, just shrugs.
"I mean--" she begins.
"Don't say she's not wrong." Hester snaps. Agatha closes her mouth, but only because she's noticed who's stood at the end of the corridor.
Tedros smiles awkwardly at them.
"Good morning."
Hester glares at him. Agatha sighs inwardly. Another person to bully him for no real reason.
Today, Tedros has tiny stars drawn under his eyes, and a silver doublet that shimmers slightly as he moves. Agatha understands why they'd forced her to add silver embroidery and jewellery to her usual black today. Still, she doesn't really understand why they have to match. It feels odd and vaguely embarrassing. Tedros doesn't seem to mind, though; he's his usual charming self, flawless face set back to courteousness. Whatever had rattled him yesterday, he no longer projects any worry.
But Agatha notices his eyes dart down the corridor as he turns to open the door, one hand held slightly out, as if he's ready to make a sudden move, and she's no longer so sure.
---
As she'd expected, it's pretty unbearable.
She's forced to stand, hold Tedros's arm, and accept congratulations, ridiculous gifts, and simpering attempts at sucking up from a long parade of oddly-dressed nobles. There's an occasional interval of more sensible, cheerful townspeople, who do seem genuinely interested, but they're a relative rarity.
And she has to pretend she likes Tedros.
Well, not right now. To be fair to him, it seems that Tedros has more of a job coming up with things to say about her, seeing as everyone wants to know about his bride-to-be. He's, admittedly, doing a good job of deflecting questions about whether he knows what she looks like, or not.
Right now, a Duchess with a towering scarlet wig is twittering away to him about an extremely specific type of fabric she thinks Agatha should use for her dress, and Agatha is eyeing the elaborate chocolates someone had brought them hopefully--
"--And I have to ask, Princess-- what's the reason behind the veil?"
She puts out a gem-studded glove and flicks at Agatha's veil playfully. Agatha jerks back, suddenly panicked. She hasn't prepared for this, and she probably should have done.
Tedros's grip on her arm tightens, and she's almost shooting him a pleading glance before she realises a) he can't help her and b) he can't see her face.
"Um, I--" Agatha stares helplessly at her. She can't carry on with these woolly excuses forever, and if she repeats them to everyone, surely everyone is going to start seeing the flaws in them-- including Tedros.
An idea comes to her, suddenly.
"Well," she says, forcing a note of mirth into her voice. "I'm sort of acne-prone, and I'm also a public figure. I'd rather thousands of people didn't see my whiteheads every day."
It shouldn't have worked, but somehow, it did.
The duchess shrieks with joy and claps her hands.
"Oh, how funny! Yes, I understand, your highness, I used to cover my face with gemstones to hide them, but that's probably so much better for your skin-- do you burn easily, too?"
"Yes." Agatha says quickly, latching on. "Yeah, sensitive to sunlight in general."
" Well, it's rather fashionable, and topical. Still, poor dear-- how dreadful to not enjoy the heat!"
Agatha hears Hester barely suppress a snort behind her. Thankfully, Tedros is busy bidding goodbye to the woman, and doesn't seem to notice.
----
The next few hours are pretty similar, and Agatha is starting to consider asking for a chair to save her aching feet, when something draws her attention.
Magic.
She'd become used to the trace presence of it, stood next to Tedros as she is-- she's still not worked out what it was that was causing it, but she and Callis have narrowed down their theories to appearance magic, protective wards, or enchanted clothing. But this is different-- it was glaringly present.
Agatha looks down to the next group, and finds a little girl staring up at her. It's her, no doubt-- she practically seethes with magic.
Agatha sees the way she's avoiding touching anyone, how her hands are held away from her sides, and instantly knows she's like her.
It's funny; it'd never really occurred to her, until a few years ago, that there was anyone else like her. Vanessa has always treated her like an oddity, but she and Callis had found a scroll that said otherwise, mentioning a girl fifty years back, born, like Agatha, with a powerful affinity for storm magic. But as far as Agatha knows, she's disappeared, or is dead. She had no idea there was anyone currently alive like her.
Fascinated, Agatha gazes at her pale eyes and thin, white-ish hair. She can't be exactly like her; she doesn't think a fire spirit would ever be born with that colouring. She's wearing gloves, but they can't be enchanted, they're too thin and the enchantment wouldn't hold. Both Agatha's gloves and veil are heavy enough to hold incantation. She's young; it's possible that her parents haven't yet worked out the measures necessary to hold back her magic.
Or, they don't really want to.
Unsettled by the idea, Agatha watches the family draw closer.
She doesn't know what she was expecting, but nothing really happens. The girl-- who's name is Morgan, apparently-- is polite enough, but she makes no effort to try and interact with Agatha, even though Agatha is sure she can tell. She spends more time looking at Tedros, which makes sense, given he's their sovereign and is far better known to them than she is. Also, Agatha is less interesting to look at, given you can't see her face.
Still, Agatha finds herself a little disappointed as she leaves without event-- though her parents visibly relax as they step off the dais.
Sighing, Agatha turns back to Tedros--
And is surprised to find he looks almost ill. He doesn't look pale, but his gaze is slightly unfocused, and Agatha can see his hands shaking. He's swaying on his feet slightly.
"Are you alright?"
"Hm? Oh, yes."
"You look unwell."
"I do feel a bit--"
It's then that Weatherford appears at Tedros's elbow with a goblet of something opaque and unidentifiable.
Agatha stares suspiciously. That was fast. Too fast.
Tedros takes it from him hastily, but he doesn't drink immediately. Weatherford looks expectant, and Tedros reluctantly takes a tiny sip. Agatha sees his mouth turn downwards in disgust. Whatever it is, it isn't pleasant.
-----
On their way out, Agatha is joining more and more dots. The gloves that he and the court always wore, Weatherford's constant presence, the overprotectiveness around him, the magic presence; it's clearly something they're using to stop him keeling over.
He's sickly.
She knew it.
Vanessa never would have married her off to someone perfect. Well, she was a fool. How was Agatha supposed to nurse him? She could barely touch him without gloves. And what was he supposed to do, if she was coughing up cinders on the floor?
If he died after they were married, Agatha would be left with the kingdom, and--
Or maybe Vanessa wasn't such a fool, after all.
Perhaps she was hoping he'd drop dead in a few months, a couple of years. Then Agatha would be left with the kingdom, and Vanessa, as her doting mother, would have unprecedented amounts of influence over Camelot--
She suddenly remembers the bet Vanessa had made to Sophie.
She thinks he'll get a few heirs from you, as fast as possible, then start having an affair and pressure you until you get a divorce.
What if that was less of a prediction... and more of a plan? Tedros has yet to show much interest in anyone, really, so Agatha feels that the comment about the affair might have just been spite-- but the concept of heirs makes sense, even if it does make her grimace. Agatha would have to be regent until any heirs were of age, but Vanessa could very easily claim Agatha was impaired with grief and exercise her own influence...
A spike of panic hits Agatha, suddenly. This can't be allowed to happen. She might not be fond of Tedros, but she can't let Vanessa seize control of one of the most influential kingdoms in the Woods.
She needs to find out what's wrong with Tedros.
Which means getting closer to him.
She's aware that it's not fair to get familiar with him for her own purposes, but what choice does she have?
Besides, it's what she's supposed to be doing anyway, isn't it?
They stop at the end of the corridor, in front of a huge, gilded mirror. Presumably, here is where they'll break off.
Tedros still looks ill, but he makes a good attempt at his usual smile as he bids her goodbye.
"I've got some duties to attend to. I'll see you at dinner."
Now is as good a time as any to stop being dismissive, Agatha thinks.
But just as she opens her mouth to respond, she catches sight of herself in the mirror.
She jerks.
It's very, very rare that she forgets she's wearing the veil. Even though it's enchanted to mean she can see perfectly well, she still knows that it's there.
But it jars her, when she catches sight of her reflection. The contrast between her and Tedros is so startling that she nearly recoils. He, blonde and beautiful and flawless in his silver doublet, and she, silent and unreadable and dour in her black veil.
I think he'll turn tail at the wedding, the second he takes that veil off.
"Yes," she says curtly. "I will."
She dips a messy curtsy and turns away, back to Hester.
She knows they've made a pact, but they're not in public.
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.
I'll start tomorrow, she tells herself as she follows Beatrix and Dot back through the palace, Hester clattering along behind her. Or at dinner, even. But she can't stomach it, now. It's too much effort.
She desperately hopes she's wrong.